


Boxes and Squares

by jesterthepink



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Little Mermaid AU, M/M, New Orleans, Pre-Slash, and there's water that's important, bc I like the architecture and I like the music okay, ish?, it's all a bit hazy, tags went through a little editing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterthepink/pseuds/jesterthepink
Summary: A story set at sea and on land.(a Little Mermaid AU)
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 17
Collections: Eames' Stupid Cupid 2020





	Boxes and Squares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IAmANonnieMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/gifts).



> Hello all! This is my Eames Stupid Cupid 2020 fic for the wonderful Mousie. Mousie, I hope you like it. The original prompt was "whisper", but I sort of took a few (read, a lot) of liberties with it. This is the first part of the story and I'm going to try and get the second part up as soon as possible <3

Arthur’s homeroom teacher is correct to call him a precocious child on his school report. He likes to know things and his curiosity, though quiet in its presentation, is unbounded in topics that are of particular interest to him. And it’s just as well, because at the age of ten he has already been left to entertain himself all summer. The sun is high overhead, scattering its beams all across the water as far as the eye can see. Arthur basks in the warmth of it, turning his face towards the sky. Cornwall is much colder than New Orleans, but the sun shines no less bright. The tender touch of the waves against his toes is a sweet complement to the smooth mossy feel of the rocks against his feet. A gentle breeze whispers through his hair as he takes an audacious step over a wide gap onto the next rock. His left foot plants itself securely, but as his right leg follows he slips and his weight is thrown. 

He falls.

**#**

The first thing Arthur notices when he comes to is the way the left side of his head aches and aches and aches. The pain radiates with a ferocity that leaves him whimpering with hot stinging tears emerging from the corners of his eyes. The rock beneath him presses into his back and legs like needles. A gentle hand lifts his head and pries his lips open, pouring a sludgy liquid down his throat. He chokes it down uneasily and just like that the pain evaporates into the ether. Arthur blinks his eyes open to see a boy leaning over him. The water has slicked away his golden brown hair, making the green undertone of his skin unavoidably apparent. 

“Oh good. You’re awake,” he says, “How does your head feel?” 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Arthur replies, gingerly probing the area to discover that a bump has formed. 

“That’s good,” the boy says, smiling a little. “You shouldn’t be swimming unsupervised. Next time bring an adult with you.” 

“ _I_ should bring an adult?” Arthur repeats incredulously as he pushes himself up, “You’re swimming alone too.” 

“Well it’s not as if it’s a problem for someone like _me_ ,” the boy replies, sinking back into the water. Arthur assumes he’s going to show off his clearly superior floating skills and peers over the rock. Below the surface there’s a shimmer, a refraction of the light, but when he looks closer—

“I think I need to go to hospital,” Arthur says faintly. 

The boy’s expression quickly becomes concerned. “Why? Is your head hurting again?” 

“I’m seeing things. You’ve got a tail. Like a fish,” Arthur says, blinking furiously as if it’ll make the image go away. 

“Oh. You weren’t supposed to see that,” the boy says sheepishly. Then his face brightens unexpectedly, “Do you want to look up close?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer before hauling himself up onto the rock and sitting next to Arthur. Beneath the water his tail looked just on the bluer side of teal but upon closer inspection Arthur can see that the edge of each scale is tipped with an ochre that catches the light as the tail moves. “I’m Eames by the way,” he says. It’s an afterthought, as if he’s not used to introducing himself. 

“I’m Arthur,” Arthur replies. He offers his hand to shake, because his dad always tells him it’s the polite thing to do when meeting someone new, and Eames is probably owed more than a little bit of politeness for saving his life. Eames doesn’t seem to feel similarly. In fact, he looks rather confused. He mirrors Arthur and reaches his hand out, leaving a little gap between their palms. 

“I’m trying to shake your hand,” Arthur says, upset that his offer of friendship being rejected again. 

“Shake my hand? Why would you do that?” Eames asks with genuine confusion. 

Arthur’s frown eases a little. “It’s what you do when you meet someone new. Like this.” Eames’ hand is cold to the touch, but his smile is as warm as the first beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds. 

#

“You have a funny accent,” Eames says the next day. It’s a strange way of greeting someone. Arthur’s beginning to think merpeople are lacking in manners altogether. He slips the map he’s holding into his rucksack and sits on the sand, close enough to the surf that waves lap over his feet. Eames chose the beach so it’s not surprising that no one else is around. He’s lying in the shallows, completely at ease with the coming and going of the waters. 

“I’m from New Orleans,” he replies simply. 

“Fascinating,” Eames says, “Where is that?” 

“It’s in Louisiana.” Then in response to Eames’ blank face. “In America.”

“On the other side of the Atlantic,” Eames replies, “What are you doing all the way over here?”

“My dad lives here now.” Arthur does not share that his mom still lives in New Orleans and that he feels like he’s being shipped back and forth from parent to parent. “My grandpa and grandma are English.” 

“And you’re allowed to go where you like without supervision?” Eames looks disapproving and envious all at once. 

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t mind really. Mr Sullivan from the chip shop knows to keep an eye out and so does Katie from the ice cream stall. He’s highly capable of looking after himself. “Only during the day and I’m not meant to go near the water when the flags are red.” 

“If you like,” Eames begins, “I can show you around. I know all the best places on the coast.”

“Really?” 

“Of course!” The gills on Eames’ neck flare with excitement and his blue eyes are set alight. “Meet me here again tomorrow.”

#

Summer runs long and infinite until the very last days when all of a sudden time is snatched away, slipping through Arthur’s fingers like fine sand. He has a day left in Cornwall before he goes back home. He tells Eames as such. 

“I think I’m going to miss it here,” he says. 

“Of course you will. Everything is so nice here.” Eames’ grin is wolfish. “And of course _I’m_ here.”

“Yes, I will miss you the most.” It’s meant to come out a little sarcastically, but there’s truth to it. “I’ve never had a friend like you before,” he says, a little embarrassed. 

It’s strange to see Eames’ green-toned skin take on a pink blush. It spreads across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “Wait here a moment,” he says before taking a dive and slipping away. He emerges from the water after what feels like mere seconds with a shell in hand. It’s about the size of Arthur’s hand and shimmers with a mother of pearl iridescence. “It’s for you,” Eames says, “So you can remember.”

#

New Orleans isn’t lonely exactly. There’s lots of people around. Arthur’s got some new classmates to make friends with and his cousin lives on the same block. His mom says that school will be better this time round. 

He tries to believe her.

Each night he curls up and holds the shell to his ear to hear the barest whisper of the Celtic Sea. 

#

“Hello again,” Eames says, smiling, “I see you’ve brought the American weather with you.” He looks a little older, but altogether the same. Arthur supposes it’s to be expected when you haven’t seen someone for a whole year. 

“I’m really hoping you don’t mean storms,” he replies. He perches on the edge of the rock pool, dangling his feet so they only just skim the surface of the water. It’s cool. 

Eames swims gentle circles and little shanny fish follow the trail his tail makes. “We had one of those in the winter. It was worse for your kind than mine naturally.” 

“Naturally,” Arthur repeats, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky and sea are perfect mirrors of each other. 

“Oi!” Eames interrupts, “No sulky faces!” 

“I was not sulking,” Arthur says indignantly. Eames flicks water at him. “Stop it, Eames.” 

“Okay.” With a lazy flick of his tail, he drenches Arthur in water who is left gaping in disbelief. 

“You,” he splutters, “Are so dead!”

#

Lovely. It’s lovely to spend year after year chasing the wind down the coastline, to explore cove after cove, to spend so long in the water that your hair becomes perpetually salt-crusted. Once your skin peeled and burnt if you spent too long outside. Now your skin has learnt to love the sun. You tan easily and freckle easier. You can identify seaweed by the species and you could write a book on the local fauna for the amount of knowledge you have. 

And your friend. You’re half convinced he’s mad, but it’s really one of his best traits. He’s dramatic, snarky and intensely funny. He makes space for, facilitates and rejoices in your inquisitive nature. As for you, you temper him. When he’s lost to the tumult of the sea, you anchor him to the soil. You ground him (as much as one could ground a creature so tied to the sea) and in return he sets your inner explorer free. 

#

Arthur falls in love with _The Sussurus_ as soon as he sees her. His dad didn’t bother to keep the fact that he was building a kayak for his seventeenth birthday a secret. Instead he asked Arthur to help build her, knowing that he would find using the finished product more rewarding that way. 

“Not too shabby,” Eames says. He hoists himself into the boat, his tail landing with a noisy, wet thud, and lays back. The motion sets the boat rocking uneasily, but Arthur pays it little mind and assumes a position at Eames’ side. The sky is a cloudless wash of blue, the coast is a speck in the distance and Arthur is smiling so wide that it almost hurts. 

Eames drums his fingers against his stomach. “I’m guessing this is your birthday present.” That’s Eames’ roundabout way of saying ‘happy birthday’. He probably thinks he’s being subtle, but Arthur has noticed the way he’s danced around the subject over the last few years. 

“Say ‘happy birthday’ like a normal person, you asshole,” he says. He flicks Eames’ neck just above the gills and they flare in response. 

“Happy birthday, Arthur.” Eames reply is just short of being sardonic, but Arthur allows it because he’s in a good mood and determined for it not to be ruined, “You’ll be glad to know I got you a present.” 

That’s unexpected. It’s not something they really do. In fact, Arthur doesn’t even know when Eames’ birthday is. “And what would that be?” 

“A secret,” he says with a debonaire wave of his hand. A smile is tugging at the corner of his lips and his eyes glint with the suggestion of mischief. 

“Alright, 007.” Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t tell me then.” 

“Just come to Sennen Cove tonight at two o’clock.”

“Two A.M?” Arthur scoffs, “Screw that. I’m going to be in bed.” 

Eames shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Guess you won’t get your present then.” He lets out a yelp as Arthur picks him up and dumps him back in the water. 

#

It’s not at all surprising that the first time Arthur sneaks out is to meet Eames. He is after all a very poor influence who has probably never been told no in his life. Arthur likes to think he doesn’t indulge Eames, rather his self control surrenders to his curiosity. There’s something ethereal about the sea at night, about the way the moon casts a shimmering glow onto the water. The moonlight illuminates Eames’ silhouette, giving his skin a silvery sheen. He turns at the soft sound of Arthur’s footsteps on the sand. 

“Hello.”

Arthur’s breath stops short. It's been many years since he’s found wonder in a Eames’ form, but in this moment he’s reminded of how goddamned beautiful he is. 

“Hi,” he replies. 

Eames shakes a vial in his direction. “Your birthday present.” 

“Are you trying to get me to do drugs for my fucking birthday?” Arthur’s laugh is somewhat incredulous. 

Eames sticks his tongue out at him. “Just drink the damn thing, but get into the water first.” The instructions are so odd that he follows them without further prompting, slipping off his shoes and clothes until he’s just left in his swimming trunks. He walks into the water until he’s up to his neck and tries to ignore the temperature. The liquid in the vial is unpleasantly salty, like swallowing an unexpected mouthful of seawater. It pools in his stomach, cold and heavy. After a while the independent kicking of his legs as he treads the water melds into one sinuous movement. 

He looks down. 

“Oh my fucking god, Eames. Did you turn me into a fucking merman?” 

“You mentioned that you want to go scuba diving sometime. This is the only way I know how,” he says. He says it in a nonchalant manner, to Arthur it’s anything but. He voiced a desire to go scuba diving a year ago in passing. “Come.” Eames takes his hand. 

It’s a little easier to get over the shock of becoming a different species when there’s an entirely new world to discover. It’s still hard not to notice the physiological differences. He can see without swimming goggles and the darkness doesn’t impede his vision all that much because he can _hear_ where things are. He coasts through the water with an ease that he’s only ever felt when using fins, and even then it’s smoother, more natural. Eames swims ahead, carving a path through shoals of fish and rock formations. To him it’s normal. To Arthur it’s marvellous. They pass through forests of seaweed and cloudy pools of brine. They swim with eels and scour the seabed with crustaceans. Arthur falls in love with the ocean all over again. It feels like hours have passed when they come to surface. The air is grating as it passes through his gills. Somewhere along the way the concept of breathing became unnatural to him. He turns to Eames and squeezes his hand. “Thank you,” he says, earnest and true. 

#

Eames is late to their rendezvous. Again. If this were this first time, maybe Arthur would be inclined to wait for him a little longer. It’s been over an hour. It’s not the first time. Just as he stands up and begins dusting away the sand on his shorts there’s a telltale ripple in the waves. Eames head bobs out of the water. 

“You’re late,” Arthur says. 

Eames’ face goes blank. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have nothing to do with their time,” he says, the tone of his voice edged.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “Go on then. Tell me all about how busy you are.” 

Eames’ lips twist into a vindictive smile and he cocks his head to the side, looking at him consideringly. “I’ll be honest with you Arthur,” he says, “I got bored of you.” 

It would be silent if not for the rushing of the wind and the crashing of the waves. Arthur presses his lips together hard enough that they feel bloodless. 

“I’d never met a human before so you have been fascinating to observe, but now I have more interesting things to attend to.” 

Arthur listens to the stream of lies pour from his lips in disbelief. “Why are you lying to me?” He can’t keep the hurt from his voice. 

“It’s not a lie. Did you really think I was your friend? Don’t you think there’s a reason why you’ve lived here all these years and haven’t made a human friend? I only came back because it was so pitiful that it made me feel bad.” It’s then that Arthur realises. The worst thing about people like Eames, people with welcoming smiles, people who read your emotions like an open book, people who seem worth confiding in, is that at any turn they’ll use your highest hopes and your deepest fears against you. Arthur tilts his head up towards the sky. He watches the seagulls dive and swoop through the air. 

“Don’t worry, Eames. There’s no need to pity me any longer. You won’t be seeing me again.” He turns on his heel and leaves. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It's not perfect and I feel like it's a little rushed but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Come find me on tumblr [ @toomuchppink ](http://www.toomuchppink.tumblr.com)


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